


the breath that passed from you to me

by mangasmic



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Even POV, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Music, Isak POV, It starts angsty, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, POV Even Bech Næsheim, POV Isak Valtersen, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, but gets fluffy and feelsy, listen with the songs linked, mild sexy times, moderate slow burn ish, ok upon further inspection this is more like v slow burn im so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2018-12-12 14:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11738781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangasmic/pseuds/mangasmic
Summary: Isak and Even break up after being together for nearly three years, and they try to find their own way for a bit before they find each other again. they stumble, find their feet, go walking, and then when they meet again, better and newer people, they can run again. (or something.) (idrk)theres a playlist to listen to this w (linked in notes), but the song for each section is linked to listen to as u read. hope u enjoyit's all planned and im trying to do this like regular updates. it's sort of betaed in that my friends read the chaps before i post them :)lol i suck at summaries.





	1. close your eyes and i'll kiss you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a prologue. hoho

_prologue_

  * _[Scar Tissue - Red Hot Chilli Peppers **•**](https://open.spotify.com/track/1G391cbiT3v3Cywg8T7DM1)_



 Three years later, Even still apologised whenever he suffered an episode. They were rare, but when they happened, and Even spiralled into depression, Isak would do everything to make it easier. Not that anything ever made it easier, but he would be there. Sometimes they just lay together, sometimes Isak regaled Even with silly stories about his day, about his work and his lectures. That was something Even had always insisted on- that his depression never dragged Isak away from his life. And Isak tried to keep to his promise that he would always care for himself first and Even second, but he couldn’t help how much his heart hurt that he couldn’t carry Even’s burden for him. It was obvious, too, that he would cancel plans to be there with Even, always telling him as he stroked his hair that there was no where else he would rather be than with him. Even hated it, actually. He was grateful, he loved Isak. Isak who never complained, or controlled him. Isak who gave him space to breathe, who took all of Even as he was, in his stride. Isak, who sometimes loved Even too much, and himself not enough. So Even always apologised.

•

Isak was a second year. He studied biomedical science at UiO. He was a top tier student, always coming in that upper band of his class. He was brilliant, and Even loved listening to him talking about his studies- about neuroscience, immunology, pharmacology. He loved watching Isak’s eyes light up as he talked about how _interesting it is, Even, like did you know that our pain receptors, right-_ and Even didn’t know but he watched and listened anyway. Sometimes he wished he could understand. He wished he had half the logic capacity that Isak did, so he could talk about bloody pain receptors. At the height of his insecurities, he was intimidated. He was a film buff, with a big dream and no means for fulfilling them. Isak wouldn’t leave him for a reason like that, but Even felt like he was holding him back. He felt like Isak deserved better than Even, better than supporting himself and Even on some science job salary while Even bumbled about trying to be a fucking _film director_ , of all things, Christ. 

•

They loved each other calmly and quietly, and they loved each other passionately and sordidly. They started living together young, and after two years they knew each other inside out. They knew each other’s hearts and bodies.

•

Isak hated that Even apologised after an episode. He knew why, but he still hated it. He was by Even’s side, even though it hurt, even though every aching muscle in his body would only ache more at seeing Even so vacant and tired and exhausted, because he wanted to be. After abandoning his mother, he’d felt a mess. Yes, of course, self preservation was the driving force, and frankly no sixteen-year-old boy should have to struggle with a mentally absent mother and a physically absent father. Of course he understood that it _wasn’t his fault_ , but it still stung like a bitch. He hadn’t been strong enough then, but he would be now. Anything for Even. If Isak couldn’t love himself enough, he would love Even twice as much.

•

Even was the suavest and coolest guy at UiO. The way people looked at him, _God_. He floored them. It was effortless. And whenever a pretty girl hung off his arm at a party, or a bashful boy offered to buy him a drink, Isak’s stomach made pretzels.

• 

“You’re the prettiest, no one else is as gorgeous as you, Isak, oh my god.” 

“I love you.”

 •

It was midnight, and they were walking back from an end of term celebration a little early, when Isak received the email about considering industry placement. One year, distance learning, salary. He would have to come back to sit his exams, sure, but he would be recommended to the fanciest institute in Norway, agreed by all his supervisors, because he was too talented to pass up the opportunity. They urged him to consider.

“What was the email about?”

“Nothing important. Just my supervisor begging me to go to that institute in Bergen again. I already said I didn’t want to do a year out?” Isak rambled a little bit. His supervisor had been pestering him for a while. If he wanted a year out, he had to apply soon. 

Even’s heart was somewhere near his toes. Isak hadn’t wanted to do a year out because of him, Even knew that well enough. Back in his third year at Nissen, when Isak was applying for the biomed course in the first place, he’d literally dreamed of that fucking institute in Bergen. 

“But I’d rather spend all of the next four years in Oslo with you.” 

He always said it, and Even felt his chest swell every time. Now it contracted, tightly, painfully. 

“Are you sure, Isak?”

“What?”

“Are you sure,” Even repeated, tasting the words rolling bitter off his tongue, “that you don’t want to at least apply? You always talked about this back in high school.” 

“Oh my god, Even, please.”

“What?”

“Don’t you start too, I swear to god, I’m so done with everyone asking me about this. Can I say it clearly enough? I’m not applying. For the fucking. Placement.”

•

Even’s short film was shown at a small festival. Random people stopped him all over campus to congratulate him. It had been posted on the university facebook and twitter page. The faculty were overjoyed. Isak was bursting with pride. _My boyfriend’s a genius._ Even was invited to a couple exclusive film buff events, and Isak was busy, so for two months they didn’t see each other much. Isak was sexually frustrated, and the pictures he saw of Even surrounded by gorgeous, arty people did no good in easing the frustration. They had fights, and angry sex, and they didn’t talk because neither of them was in the apartment long enough to get the words out.

•

“I can’t go on like this!” 

“Then don’t. Fuck. I don’t deserve this.”

“No. Neither do I”

“Well fuck.”

“What do you want.”

“Honestly, space.”

• 

“I still love you but I’m a mess.”

•

“Maybe we’re just not right for each other.”

“Anymore?”

“Maybe we weren’t ever.”

“Fuck.”

  * _[High and Dry- Radiohead•](https://open.spotify.com/track/1daWG6AYC20lWevL2r1Rm2)_




	2. 1. true, could've been better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is sad shit tbh. soz boss. it doesn't get that much better after this. but like. it will get better soon ish. ish. <3

PART ONE

  * _[Sorrow- The National•](https://open.spotify.com/track/5UXW4T4W80gThrchHR1Mgt)_



Honestly, he was just pretty numb. He couldn’t really work out where it all went so fucking _awry_? There was no doubt the threads of tension had been stretched tight towards the end; miscommunication was abounding because of Isak and Even’s frequent absences, and the two were always on edge, nerves rattled from constant social events, school assignments and work. Granted, the stress levels had been extraordinarily high, but Isak had handled stress before, hell, he and Even had _both_ handled stress before, and at the same time, and still managed to be there and talk it through. He kept turning it over in his head, mulling over at what point they stopped talking about their stress.

So in the first week following, when he was living on Jonas and Magnus’ sofa because he had nowhere fucking else to go, while playing FIFA with Jonas, Isak started rambling. Not a distraught, weeping kind of ramble, the kind he’d tried to avoid showing any of his friends, but a softer, more reminiscent kind. He meandered through his memories, savouring them, and spilling them to Jonas, because the memories were begging to be freed from the confines of his heart.  

“I don’t know where I went wrong. Like. I just can’t pin it down? We were so good together. He was so, I don’t know, present? Like, fuck, I’m so bad at explaining this, but, like, a clock or something. We fit well. We knew each other’s quirks and shit, I knew what ticked him off, when he was pissed and to calm him down and he could do the same for me, obviously. And sometimes it was utter horse shite, but that was what made the good stuff so good. And I just.

“I always thought it was so fucking perfect you know. Not like, not like smooth sailing perfect, because that’s just not realistic. I just couldn’t picture any universe where we weren’t together because we were like two sides of the coin, he was so different to me and it worked? He changed me. I sort of became a person after meeting him. I couldn’t imagine being without him because before I met him I was this fake, mess thing.”

“You were seventeen Isak. You were scared.”

Isak looked at Jonas for a moment. Jonas who, through it all, was on his side, always caring, never pushing, always listening. He realised then that maybe it had been problematic, his co-dependence with Even. To whom else would Isak have confessed his most concerning troubles? It seemed evident that Even was the only person Isak trusted enough to talk these things through with, and that had strained him, Isak was sure. Because right at the end, when they never really saw each other, it was obvious that Isak needed someone to talk to. And Isak, being as reluctant as ever to talk about his problems even when there were plenty of supportive people in his life who would’ve been there to lend him a shoulder, didn’t say anything to anyone. A wave of regret passed through him, and he held Jonas’ gaze for a beat, sorrow pooling in his eyes.

“I missed talking to you.  I should’ve talked to you. Fuck, I should’ve talked to you,” he mumbled, barely audible.

Jonas raised his eyebrows at that. He could see the thoughts whirring in Isak’s head, how Isak was regretting and wishing, and Jonas just wanted to quiet the storm in his brain.

Isak sighed, and tried to shake the dredges of sadness from his mind. He turned wistful as a memory visited him, a tentative smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“You remember how when I turned eighteen we left my party early?”

“I remember,” Jonas chuckled. He did, in fact, and when the rest of them had noticed Isak and Even’s absence from the gathering, they’d all shared that knowing smile, laughing a bit and then just going back to enjoying themselves, because who was going to pull them apart on Isak’s birthday, honestly.

“It was so impulsive, and kind of rude actually. But we just didn’t care. I remember us just slipping out, guilty but also not caring because we just wanted to be alone together. It never got old either. Sneaking away. Disappearing to be with each other. I never got tired of him. I never thought I could have that, like, thrill. Never thought I’d be, so, like, caught by someone that I couldn’t even give a fuck about celebrating my own fucking eighteenth because I just wanted to be near him.

“And shit, remember when I was with Sara?” Isak was grinning a little, and Jonas was glad to see the flash of teeth between his lips. It had only been a week, and in that week Isak had only laughed half heartedly when Magnus had said something really stupid to cheer him up, and never really cracked a proper smile. 

Isak and Sara had been a pretty gross couple, basically eating each other’s face at any opportunity. Worst of all, Jonas knew now it had been a performance on Isak’s part, one he had hated putting on. He always felt a pang of regret twisting at his gut, knowing Isak had felt doubly pressured to hook up with girls because of the way the boys had worshipped them. Sure, it wasn’t really their fault, but if only they’d been more chill about their libidos, Isak might’ve felt more comfortable exploring his. Instead of bringing up any of this, though, Jonas opted to keep it light, to keep the smile playing on Isak’s mouth there for as long as possible

“You’ll never live that PDA down Isak. What a joke, honestly.” Jonas smirked a little, and at that, Isak huffed a little. He hadn’t enjoyed that PDA. It had always been out of obligation, living up to the cool ass lady killer he wanted his friends to think he was. So very far from the truth too.

“I always thought that’s what it’d be like. This mask I hated wearing. Kissing this girl who made me feel nothing at all at school just so everyone would think I was normal. I thought people actually cared, when actually no one really gives a shit. I was so in my head, convinced that I had to behave a certain way, pull all the girls, just so people thought I was cool or whatever. I was such a fuckboy as well, Christ. And when I first met him, Jonas, I was so enthralled, but so afraid of admitting to myself that I was different. I was so into him like I’d never been with Sara or Emma or any of them, but I was still trying to convince myself that didn’t make me different. I was so scared of other people judging me, so scared without realising that at the time the only one passing any judgement was me. I remember he tried to kiss me outside a coffee shop once and I didn’t let him? Because I was so fucking ashamed. But then I was with him, and I loved him and I couldn’t ever be ashamed of that. It made me feel so real and I wanted everyone to, like, know. That this is Isak Valtersen. That I like boys. And you should all be jealous because I have the prettiest boy attached to my face right now.”

Jonas hummed. He remembered, actually, how happy it made him to see Isak holding hands with Even in the school yard, to hear the girls gushing about Isak and Even making out in a science lab before class.

  * _[Mountains- Jome•](https://open.spotify.com/track/4jrRUUEChDmRquxu6S0MIF)_



“Oh my god. Remember when Even showed up on our like, second anniversary, outside the first year teaching lab with flowers and fuck. I was so embarrassed. What’s worse is that I had the fucking present in my hand, I’d been carting it around with me all day for fear of Even finding it in the fucking apartment. Honestly, fuck it was so cute. He’s there with the flowers outside the lab and everyone’s fucking floored by him, but then he sees the fucking gift bag, and he’s like crying because he didn’t think I’d remember after I fucking forgot our first anniversary _fucking Christ_! and he just kissed me right there and then. And everyone knew I was a sap too because he opens the thing right fucking there, Jonas and holy shit I didn’t know what to do when he pulled the fucking ring out.”

They went quiet for a moment as Isak remembered the ring he got Even for their second anniversary. Isak turned the memory over in his mind, kneading it like dough, tasting it in his mouth. It wasn’t bitter, but it hung sticky and heavy in the room. Jonas was looking at him measuredly, and Isak was thrown back to that weekend before their anniversary. The panic setting in as he guiltily recalled Even’s face falling the year before, when Isak had blankly stared at him and asked _what’s the occasion_ when Even had forced him into a suit and taken him to dinner and slid a card and present across the table.

He hadn’t really known what he was doing when he bought it, on a whim and not really knowing Even’s ring size. He had guessed pretty well, though, because he knew Even’s fingers and could make a very educated approximation. It was simple, but sentimental, a polished silver band engraved with _Du er ikke alene, 21:21_ on the inside, the ring that Even hopefully still had, wherever he was staying right now. Probably at his parents’ place. _So you know that I’m always with you and you aren’t alone, even if you think you are._ Even had cried there in the hallway. _I’m sorry I didn’t wait till we got home to open it, Isak, I didn’t know what I was expecting but shit, it wasn’t this._ That night they’d had hot, sweet rolling sex. It had been languid and soft and slow, a meandering river of milk and honey. Their sweat had mingled in the bedsheets, and they’d gasped _Iloveyous_ and _Oh, Isaks_ and _EvenEvenEvens_ into each other’s skin until the words felt branded into their flesh.

Isak would’ve gotten embarrassed at the memory that arose, flushing scarlet and fighting the strain in his jeans as his libido responded eagerly to the stimuli, but now he was just sad. A bit too numb still to fully comprehend that there would be no more _Iloveyous_ and _Oh,_ Isaks and _EvenEvenEvens,_ but raw enough to feel the weight settle in his chest. Somewhere in the middle of his chest a weight settled like a stone, heavy and immovable, a dull pressure against his ribs.

“Where did I go wrong?” Isak lamented and Jonas felt a little piece of his heart chip off. He didn’t know either. On the outside, Isak and Even had been this unstoppable, golden couple. They were a team. Of course they had struggles, they were only human, but they were so fucking good to each other, full of love and affection. Always putting the other one first. Jonas couldn’t, for the life of him, imagine an Isak and Even who didn’t talk to each other, who didn’t sort through their shit, determined to weather any storm because they loved each other that much. The boy squad and girl squad had always agreed, if any couple coming out of Nissen would last forever it was Even and Isak. But apparently they’d been wrong, and he felt guilty too, for putting his best friend and his best friend’s boyfriend on a fucking pedestal like they weren’t people with fucking problems too. 

“We were together for, what, like three years? I can’t think of a single day in those three years that I didn’t want to be with him.”

Isak wasn’t crying, but Jonas felt like crying. Isak hadn’t said it with any hint of remorse or sadness, merely a statement of fact, but that alone made it stick so much heavier in Jonas’ mind; to Isak it wasn’t even a matter to get choked up about, it was just the plainest truth that those three years he’d spent with Even were because he’d wanted to be there, because he’d loved Even, loved being with Even.

“When he was at those fucking events, and I couldn’t go because of school work, because I was working at the lab early the next morning. I always felt guilty like I should have gone. Should I have gone? Even though at first he’d said I ought not to overwork myself, should I have gone anyway?”

They both knew he would’ve drowned under the stress if he had done. Jonas’ chest was aching at Isak’s words, lost and regretful and full of sorrow.

“And I always saw pictures, online. The way people looked at him Jonas, it was like, I know what they saw. He’s charming, he’s so good looking. When those girls were all batting their eyes at him, I swear, I felt nauseous. And ‘cos he’s so nice, he always noticed, always tried to reassure me that I was the only one. Every time he told me they didn’t compare, it was like, that nausea was eating me. Am I making sense?

“It’s not that I didn’t trust him, I was just. I’m not as small as when we first got together. I feel like, I’m less desirable than all those fucking pretty girls and little twinks honestly like. I remember when I became too heavy for him to lift. He had to start going to the gym ‘cus his skinny ass couldn’t lift me anymore. Made me feel so weirdly undesirable. I didn’t feel, like, pretty. I don’t feel pretty.” 

Isak’s voice trailed off as he admitted it. He’d never properly voiced the concern before, and saying it now made it suddenly real to him. He didn’t feel pretty. He didn’t feel pretty enough to compare to the soft girls and cute boys who had flirted shamelessly with his boyfriend when he wasn’t there, and just as shamelessly when he was there. It felt like a stab, admitting his insecurity. Jonas was a hairs breadth from screaming. He felt so indescribably sad. He was at a total loss for words, because if anyone could tell Isak he was beautiful, it had been Even. When had that stopped being enough for Isak? Had Even stopped telling him? Jonas’ head was spinning a little.

“And he, he, never stopped just being the sun honestly. Like he was radiant. And he was kind. What could I have done? Was it my fault? Did I push him away- with my, my, insecurities?”

Isak was spiralling a bit, and Jonas just pulled him into a hug. Patted his hair and tried not to cry. Listened to Isak’s laboured breathing as he struggled to process the events of his break up. It happened sometimes, and Jonas had come to understand that when Isak got like this there wasn’t much point in asking him if he was ok or trying to talk his thoughts through with him. All he really needed was something to ground him, so Jonas just rubbed soothing circles into his back and listened to his train of thought slowly stop spinning. Isak was still numb, but this was the most vocal he’d ever been about it. Every other time it’d been messier, with more tears and less explanation. Jonas was feeling pretty fucking blessed that Isak had trusted him enough to ramble at him. And God, it was obvious that Isak fucking needed it; the words had tumbled out of him once he’d gotten started.

Eventually, Isak’s breathing calmed to a regular rate, and he pulled back from Jonas’ arms. Huffing out a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, and spoke again, pausing to consider as he formed the words, tasting them as they left his lips.

“I could never hate him, I don’t think. Like ever. I can’t even sort it through, in my head, what or where it went wrong, I just know I’ll always love him.” 

Isak wasn’t bitter or sad when he said it, only honest. He stated it, matter-of-factly because his feelings for Even were out of his control. Jonas looked at Isak, who was looking back with all manner of sadness, loneliness, longing and lost love in his eyes. Jonas’ smile was small, but he wanted Isak to know that talking to him had been a step in the right direction, wanted to reassure Isak that he was always there to listen if ever he was needed. 

“Thanks for talking to me Isak.”

He pulled Isak into another hug, tucking his head into his neck, and Isak nodded into Jonas’ shoulder. Jonas ignored the wetness spreading in the fabric of his shirt, ignored the sniffles. He ignored them because if he didn’t he’d probably start crying too, and he knew Isak didn’t want to be seen in this state. Isak hated to be seen as weak, and here he was, in Jonas’ arms, trying not to cry and failing, trusting Jonas with the biggest upset of his life. 

“Really. Thanks for talking to me. Thanks for trusting me. I’m literally always here for you if you need. Any fucking time. Forever bros”

Isak nodded again.

They stayed that way for some time. Half an hour maybe. Isak mostly calm, just taking a moment to feel grounded by Jonas’ presence, and Jonas just being there, saying nothing. Eventually Isak pulled back, managing a ghost of a half-assed sheepish grin.

“Thanks for listening Jonas. I love you dude.”

Jonas only smiled, a little sadly.

“Love you too.”


	3. 2. you're not my saviour, just someone i used to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was a hefty chap for me, and i had it half done before i went to amsterdam for a few days. i managed to bang it out on returning tho, hopefully its half decent :/
> 
> next two chaps are even pov!! chap 3 on its way (technically chap 4 but i aint counting the prologue)
> 
> all my love and thanks to emma for being my beta xx (where would i be w/o u my gal)

  * _[Anaesthetic- Thomston•](https://open.spotify.com/track/1jvweZLzDnuvOHMFA7J5oA)_



One month after breaking up, Isak wasn’t coming out of the numbness at all. Or rather, he was. He was coming out of the initial shock, the sudden impact that had left him reeling. The first few weeks had been like the moment after standing up too fast, where the dizziness made his head spin as he tried to readjust to what he was seeing and doing, where the familiar surroundings suddenly seemed surreal and Isak couldn’t fully grasp what the air he was moving through was supposed to feel like.

He’d been plunged underwater, the roaring in his ears deafening, and the sudden rush of cold water over his head had been such a shock to his system that he couldn’t process that he was drowning, and by the time he did, he was gasping for oxygen, with not enough in his system to propel him to the surface. Unable to reach air, he sank lower again, overcome with fatigue, the biting cold numbing his skin and settling deep into his bones.

And so he fell into a whole new kind of numbness, one deep-set, a slow burning injection into his blood stream. He was moving through the water, not drowning, but not really breathing either. His senses were dull and his reactions slow, but he was functioning, like a robot, following simple programming. Where he’d been split open didn’t sear with pain, but it didn’t ache either, it just was. 

It wasn’t a wide open wound; it wasn’t still bleeding. He felt like he was drugged up on painkillers that suppressed not just the pain but any capacity to feel at all. He dragged himself out of bed with a heavy heart and limbs and he was wooden; he lacked any semblance of wit and his friends noticed it, noticed his unresponsiveness, his inability to join in on the playful banter. It seemed excessive, that he’d become so hollow, yet he was so numb he couldn’t really bring himself to care. He knew he was a bore to be around, the empty shell of a human he’d become was so pitiful that his friends couldn’t even enjoy teasing him about it. They tried to maintain an atmosphere of playful lightness when they were around him, but he remained distant. The boys were unbelievably tolerant of him, though; they weren’t as loud as they were used to being, preferring to speak in slower, quieter and easier tones. Even Magnus had sobered up around him, acting calm and collected as he could. Isak knew they didn’t have to be so patient with him, and when he got out of his head long enough to appreciate his friends, he felt a rush of gratitude surge through him.

Isak also forged a stronger bond with Mahdi than he had ever anticipated- because he hadn’t wanted to impose too much on Magnus and Jonas, seeing as he lived on their couch. Mahdi was chilled out all the time, and let Isak mope and wallow without ever making a big deal about it. He never needed to _do anything_ , or say anything, or anything anything really, and it grounded Isak, made him feel normalised because Mahdi wasn’t walking on eggshells around him nor trying to keep from uupsetting him. He was good company simply by being _ordinary_ company. He would do homework, listen to music, smoke weed and just be there in quiet harmony. It was his way of caring, Isak guessed, because he knew he was shit to be around. He didn’t even mope, he just didn’t do anything. He was barely there most of the time, his numbness leaving him totally emotionally absent. And as grateful as he was to Jonas and Magnus for their more hands-on approach to getting him through the rough patch, Mahdi’s silent support made Isak feel just that little bit more human, like he wasn’t broken all the time because everyone around him treated him as such. 

Mahdi’s roommate moved away around this time, and Isak moved in with him. It saved him looking for a place, which he’d said he’d been doing, but he and the boys all knew he’d looked for fuck all. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to find himself a new place, just that it was an extra effort that he absolutely did not have the energy for. And not a moment too soon, because after a month of crashing at Jonas and Magnus’ and massively overstaying his welcome, he needed a room to himself, a new place to call home. Not that Jonas and Magnus had ever thought of him as a burden (anything to help Isak through a heartbreak and half, because he’d really needed it), but Isak needed somewhere to call his place that wasn’t that tiny fucking flat he’d shared with Even since he was seventeen. It would still choke him up sometimes when he thought about how he didn’t have a home anymore, and the best one he’d ever had was probably occupied by some new tenants. So he was beyond grateful for the room, and he really had grown pretty comfortable with Mahdi, falling into some routines with him. And Mahdi was amazing, putting up with Isak’s constant haziness, and encouraging the boys to try to reconstruct some normality into Isak’s life by leaving him space when he needed it, and dragging him to social events when he needed to just get out of the house.

  * _[Comfortably Numb- Pink Floyd•](https://open.spotify.com/track/29zkoUsOE50f0I3n44LjjU)_



Three months after breaking up, Isak was floating through life, going about his days with absolutely no drive. If his life were a sine curve, it was so shallow it looked like a straight line. He didn’t dip low, and he didn’t peak high. He was always pretty near the x-axis, neutral, moods not swinging about at all. Neither feeling good nor bad, just feeling close to nothing at pretty much all times.

He wasn’t sure how he was even passing his classes, honestly. He wasn’t even slipping to the bottom bracket either, still somehow managing to turn in decent assignments. It was a far cry from the flare he used to show, wherein he would hand in lab reports and essays that went above and beyond his syllabus, amazing his teachers with his distinct passion for the subject topics, and his supervisors noticed the slump but couldn’t comment. Everything he submitted was worth an A grade anyway, so there was nothing he could be explicitly faulted for, and so he was never confronted for the comparatively lacklustre attitude he’d taken. But the spark was missing, his work never going above and beyond, just hitting all the criteria like it was a chore. The only reason Isak even bothered to complete his work to that standard anyway was to give him something to apply himself to, but he couldn’t find the light in the subject the way he used to, couldn’t throw himself into research the way he wanted to. Other than a clear lack of motivation he still managed to perform on paper, but it wasn’t enough.

Sana tried to talk to him sometimes, on the phone. She knew what happened, of course, and wanted to check in and make sure he was doing okay. She was studying biochemistry in Trøndheim, so Isak didn’t see her as often, and honestly he missed her like hell. He missed her counsel, and advice, and her tough love. He missed getting to talk about serious stuff and school stuff and have her take him seriously while dealing with it all light-heartedly. She never made a big deal out of anything, even if it was one. It made solving problems seem so much more feasible when she put them into perspective. But she was Even’s friend too, as was Yousef, so Isak figured that talking to her wouldn’t help him that much. The four of them had even gone on double dates and shit, so being with Sana could sometimes uproot a certain memory, and he’d be heartbroken all over again. He loved Sana, and he missed her like mad, but he couldn’t find the energy to really properly speak with her. His comfortable flatline of emotionlessness wasn’t ready to wobble were he to catch up with her, he wasn’t ready to feel anything substantial just yet. He couldn’t handle any pain right now, not when he was coming through the worst of it so steadily. He was drifting through life like a fucking dust particle, and he wasn’t about to get caught in any storm. He adamantly refused to let his heart take any bruising. What he did allow though, was the academic conversation. Their courses had a couple of overlaps, so Isak would talk to her through those. It meant he could still talk to her, spend time with her, and feel some routine warmth again. By allowing himself these small pleasures he was slowly readjusting to doing his work properly, and living his life freely. She kept him on top of his assignments with her check-ins, made sure he was doing his set work, made sure it wasn’t a shit job either, made sure that even on the days where he was close to giving up and not bothering, he still would because he had it in him. Made sure he was turning up on time for his shifts helping at the lab.

Isak was drifting, but there was something resembling regularity returning to his life. Without Sana’s direction, Mahdi’s company, Jonas’ patience and tolerance and Magnus’ kindness; without Eva’s unending love, Vilde’s naïve but unabashed sweetness, Isak wouldn’t have been able to be steady. He would be off the rails, drowning his sorrows in bad decisions, his life a violent sine curve where he only existed at the peaks and troughs and never in the middle. His friends were patient, not at all domineering or patronising, and for that he was grateful. He knew he wasn’t going to be over it any time soon, but he could also tell he was healing. With supportive friends by his side, nudging him gently, not holding his hand or spoon-feeding him or anything, just offering to shine a light if he was getting a little lost in the dark. He didn’t do much but drift, but at least he was moving. It was slow progress, but progress nonetheless, and Isak was glad not to be stuck in a self-destructive cycle.

•

Five months after breaking up, Eskild came back from wherever he’d been for the past half-a-year, and he was at Isak’s door. They hadn’t seen each other since a month before the break up, and Isak hadn’t realised how fucking much he missed his friend until Eskild was stood in his doorway with a small suitcase and open arms. Isak felt something when he saw him there, and somewhere in the quiet recesses of his heart, the pin dropped, and feelings started ringing in Isak’s ears. When Eskild pulled him into a tight hug and whispered _how are you baby jesus,_ Isak just let go, and the banks broke. It was the first time in about five months that Isak shed a tear about the break up. Eskild only hugged him tighter, soothing him.

He didn’t talk about it, really, and Eskild never pushed him to, just sat and comforted him, stroked his hair, cried with him at times. After the first day of Isak feeling things, Eskild dragged him out of his previous emotionless drifting state, and made Isak _do_ things, before he had to go back to living his life- in Bergen apparently, where he was working in marketing for some company. Eskild made sure that Isak was fed _actually decent_ meals every day, taken on some crisp walks in the park that burned his underused lungs with fresh air, and exposed to some thorough guru-advising. Eskild reminded him every day for the whole week that _you need to think of yourself Isak, look at you, go back to the gym and lift some weights little one, start eating again, you didn’t learn to cook real food to waste away like this baby gay._ Eskild made Isak cook for them and practise his now very rusty kitchen skills. He made Isak laugh a few times, bantering gently and patiently, always the most paternal figure in Isak’s life. Of course Eskild didn’t make it so Isak was functioning perfectly again, he didn’t and couldn’t have that kind of power, but he reminded Isak that it was possible, possible to have fun, to get hurt, and to be ok, and to go out looking for fun again. He listened closely, and put things into perspective when Isak opened up to him on the last night before Eskild went again.

• 

“You are surrounded by people who love and support you no matter what Isak. It sucks, heartbreak always does, but it passes if you let it. Don’t deny the pain, but don’t let it consume you. Lean on your friends when you are struggling and, Isak, never forget how much we love you.”

•

After Eskild left, Isak sat at the kitchen table for an hour turning his thoughts over in his head. He knew that it would be a big step, but Isak reckoned that Eskild had given him a big enough push to go through with it. He was almost excited to get started.

Mahdi walked into the kitchen then, yawning.

“What’s up bro?”

He always asked, even though Isak’s answer was pretty much automated. Today, however, he was surprised.

“I’m gonna go to the gym tomorrow. Join me?” Isak’s eyes were determined, and a genuine grin stretched his lips. Mahdi agreed in a heartbeat.

 • 

They did go to the gym together the next day, and they started going together three times a week after that. They didn’t have to talk, just went through their workouts independently, sometimes pairing up for exercises, helping each other bench, egging each other on when they were pushing especially hard. Isak let himself get lost in the exercise, focusing only on completing his reps. It helped, having something else to think about, having something that pumped endorphins through his brain, causing post-gym highs that shook him out of his numb stupor. He let the wavering in his mood happen, let himself get pumped up to bench ten more kilos, let himself get disappointed when he couldn’t, let himself get excited when he ran ten kilometres ten seconds faster. When he stood under scalding water and scrubbed the sweat salt off his skin, Isak let the burn in his muscles remind him that hurt was something he could heal from, let the strain and the effort remind him that pain was worth the outcome. The physical exertion grounded Isak; it let him feel attached to the moment, so he wasn’t drifting any more. When he was lifting weights and when he was running he had a goal in mind. He wasn’t trying to throw himself into toning his body, but he had a clear aim for fitness in his mind. He was pushing himself to be fit and healthy again, to be in a physically good place. It wasn’t a cure to his emotional hurt, but it was a start.

He was firm enough to start feeling things again, whatever they may be. And he let himself be sad when the sadness hit, and he let himself be happy when the happiness hit, albeit much less frequently than the sadness. He was tired of drifting, so he made it his conviction to get through the pain while being fully present.

  * _[Breaking Free- Night Riots•](https://open.spotify.com/track/3ti4eDm3s0dGWxQKeJ1OeM)_



 Seven months after the break up, Isak got an email from his supervisor saying the application for that fucking placement in Bergen had been reopened after the hire dropped out. He thought about it for all of three minutes before he went to her office to reply to her email in person and practically begged her for the letter of recommendation. His supervisor was so happy to oblige, she nearly hugged him. She pulled the envelope, fully signed, stamped and addressed out of her desk drawer, admitting sheepishly she’d always assumed he’d try for the place.

“I had another one prepared for six months or so ago when the applications first opened. I was so sure you’d go for it, it’s perfect for you,” she’d said, gushing a little now that her letter was finally getting sent off. 

“It was seven and a half months ago,” Isak said, smiling a little sadly, remembering the email, the midnight walk, the tense conversation with Even. When his supervisor clapped her hands, saying “Right, well anyway, I’m so glad you’re applying Isak,” he thanked her again, shaking the memory out of his mind. He was moving forward.

•

“It’s a fresh start, a year away,” Isak was justifying his decision to Jonas, who only nodded and hummed in response. Jonas knew that it was a good idea, even if it would suck for the rest of them that Isak wasn’t around, now that he was finally returning to his old, witty self. He knew that Isak wasn’t really explaining his reasoning to Jonas, but to himself. It was a big step, and it was far away, and it was definitely scary for him, who’d spent a lot of his life since high school in relative comfort. The biggest shock to his system in the past four years had been the break up, and that had really messed him up. If anything, this was the biggest step Isak would take in his life so far: moving away from Oslo to go to a place where he knew no one (except Eskild who’d moved there, a fact which Jonas was unimaginably relieved by), to finally throw himself into his studies that he’d been so passionate about before. It was another big gesture that Isak was making for himself since he’d started at the gym again. And he looked better, too, fitter, healthier, smiling more and sleeping more.

Jonas was just glad that Isak was being proactive and talking again, taking care of himself enough that Jonas could trust him to survive in Bergen for a year by himself, without his friends to check up on him to make sure he was actually doing shit.

•

Sana was delighted that Isak had applied for the placement. Despite his seven months of falling behind, he still had a flawless track record in his assignments, and with such a strong letter of recommendation, he was bound to get the position. She didn’t voice it quite as enthusiastically to him - she had an image to uphold here - but she was generous with her praise for once. What she hadn’t expected as a result of her temporary softening, however, was for Isak to open up to her a little bit about his own thoughts.

“I don’t think I’m running away, but sometimes the thought of bumping into him in this city is really fucking terrifying. I’d say it’s a miracle we haven’t seen each other, but I don’t really go anywhere so that’s probably why. I’m trying to do this for myself, I’m pretty sure I am, but I’m so scared I’m just making excuses for cowardice.”

Sana chuckled a little bit, sensing the hesitation in Isak’s voice and seeing his face scrunched up on the screen. She steadied her breath as she told Isak what she thought of it.

“If it were cowardice, it wouldn’t have taken you seven months to apply Isak. If you were running away because of cowardice you would’ve done it long ago.”

Isak was quiet for a beat, mulling over her words in his head. Sana watched the realisation dawn on him, his eyebrows steadily rising up his forehead, before he breathed out.

“Shit, you’re right.”

She laughed at that, at the way Isak seemed to understand that the choice he was making was a good one, a justified one. It seemed to settle in him pleasantly, understanding that he was actually capable to do good things for himself, of his own accord, to his own ability. Isak wasn’t happy, not yet, but flashes of his old sassy self were crawling back to him; something of the self-assured boy he’d been was coming through, stronger and older, peeking through the curtains of Isak’s heartbreak as a wiser, wearier, self-assured young man. Sometimes that familiar spark lit up his eyes when he bantered a little with Sana or his friends, the quick-witted, sharp-tongued retorts rolling off his tongue easily. He wasn’t all better yet, still riddled with doubts and fears, but he was undeniably moving forward, listening and learning, letting himself fall and picking himself up. He wasn’t so scared of pain that he didn’t take risks. Of course, he hadn’t been out on the lash, looking for hook ups and getting wasted with his friends just yet, but he was focusing on himself, and doing things he cared about, and things that were good for him. Not yet steady enough to handle bad decisions, but steady enough to make good ones. And Sana told him so, because she felt he ought to know and be reminded that what he was doing was good.

“It’ll be good for you, I think, to focus on something that’s important to you, that you enjoy. Take this time to heal yourself Isak. Take this time to do what you love and don’t think about anyone else.”

• 

Nine months after breaking up Isak was finally preparing to move to Bergen to spend a year in a cancer research lab at a swanky university hospital. He was excited, actually, and fearful as hell. It was finally sinking in that he was actually moving away from Oslo, away from his friends, the comfort of the city he knew so well. He was also enjoying the sensation of being excited, because it’d been a fucking while since he had anything to get really excited about, and Isak let himself waver under the swell of nervous energy he was experiencing.

He had been to visit the area, to find an apartment to rent for the year he was there for, saving up some funds to pay the deposit. He knew where Eskild would be in relation to him, and, gosh, was he glad that he would have Eskild there.

•

With all his stuff packed away, Isak felt the finality sink in. Everything that physically made him up, that was important to him, was contained in eight cardboard boxes, sitting in his now empty room, barren except for the bed he was leaving. All his other furniture he’d sold or given away. All he had now was his clothes, his shoes, his books, his computer, his photo albums (which did indeed contain photos with Even that he hadn’t looked at for months now), his lamp and favourite mug and some other crockery and plates that he’d had since he moved out of his parents’ house. Some other gadgets and bric-a-brac was packed in as well; some decorative cushions the girls had gotten for him, a new set of bedsheets from Linn, laundry detergent from the boys, telling him he needed it, some workout equipment from Mahdi in case the gym wasn’t great there. He was actually leaving Oslo, as good as alone, to live in another city for a year.

This was his last real hang out with the boys, on the sofa, thinking hard about what moving away would mean. They passed a joint between them, a few of Isak’s boxes sitting in the living room. It was a big thing, and he didn’t want to get emotional about it, but he did anyway. Surrounded by his things, by his closest friends, realising that he wouldn’t get to hang out with the boys quite like this for a good while now. He had another revelation, too, and hazy with smoke, he felt he had to share it with his friends.

“Guys I’m like, totally gay.”

The boys giggled a little, murmuring affirmations and _weknow_ s. It was a pretty obvious fact, what with Isak only being with one person who was distinctly male. And they were pretty sure, from the few times Isak and Even had been caught doing the dirty (which had definitely shut Magnus up from asking intrusive questions for a good six months following), that Isak had enjoyed being with said male.

“That’s fine, but why are you telling us this now Isak?” Magnus asked through a snort, choking a little as he puffed the smoke out of his lungs. Isak considered this. He knew, of course, that him being gay was not news to the boys, but he struggled to put his reasoning for the confession into words.

“Because I never properly came out to you. Back in high school, I came out by telling you I had a thing with Even. Which was totally a cop-out. I don’t want my gayness to be associated forever with Even. It’s my thing, it’s part of me. I didn’t come out for Even, or because of Even, I came out because I wanted to be real. And I don’t think I did it properly back in high school, so I’m like, telling you guys again. So you know. I’m gay. Not bi or pan or whatever. Not ‘gay for Even now’ or then or whatever. Just like, totally gay.”

The boys grinned and Jonas clapped Isak’s thigh happily. Their friend was finally acknowledging himself for who he was, what he loved and liked, and was proud too. It was more than they ever would have hoped for back in high school, and they were positively glowing with pride for Isak, who was coming out of his heartbroken shell a newer, better man.

“Let’s hear it for the boy,” he announced, and Magnus and Mahdi cheered while laughing. The boys continued to talk after that, about light hearted stuff, and also about how much they would miss Isak, which warmed his heart.

“We gotta Skype, dude, I’ll miss you mad otherwise,” Magnus said, and the boys all laughed.

“I didn’t know you liked me that much, Mags,” Isak replied, grinning around the joint hanging between his lips. Magnus huffed a little. “I do, actually, Isak, it’s just that talking about feelings can be a little gay,” he admitted, pouting.

“And seeing as Isak is quite a lot gay, you’re okay with talking about your feelings now?” Jonas jibed, Mahdi laughing as he watched on.

“Yeah, I guess,” Magnus sniffed, looking a little put-out that no one appreciated his feelings. The boys were silent for a moment, contemplating, continuing to pass the joint between them.

“Nah, for real though, we do have to skype and text and stuff. You’re our guy, keep in contact,” Jonas finally said. Mahdi nodded earnestly in agreement. Isak felt his chest swelling a little with fondness for his friends, and gratitude at their patience and tolerance and care while he was too under the weather to be a proper friend to any of them.

• 

He thought about it later as well: himself and his sexuality. He thought about what it meant, being able to admit he liked men, and not needing to attach it to one man particularly, as if it were an exception. It wasn’t an exception, Isak knew that. He’d been into dudes long before Even turned up, although Even definitely shook his foundations more than any of the others by being the first dude who’d reciprocated. More than anything, he was proud of himself, like really fucking proud, that he was recovering from his heartbreak with more self-respect than he’d ever really had. He was finding it easier, in himself, to love himself and care for himself. He wanted to credit himself for the progress he’d made recently, and also for the progress he made those years ago in high school. He didn’t want to give that whole part of his life to Even, the part where he finally came to terms with who he was, at least a little. It was hard to explain it, but he didn’t want that part of him, his feelings for guys, to be that thing he unlocked because of Even. Without Even it may not have happened so quickly or easily, but it would have happened, Isak was sure. He didn’t want the honesty he started practising after he and Even got together to be as a result _of_ Even, regardless of how much Even being there had made it easier to be honest. Even _had_ helped him, Even led him, guided him- but Even wasn’t his saviour. Even was a person in his own right, he was more than some dream of Isak’s, some guardian angel that Isak desperately needed to watch over him. He was a human, and he was Isak’s first love, first boyfriend, first everything. What he had been to Isak was special and grand, and undeniably felt bigger than human, because Even had always been just that- larger than life, unashamedly himself, and even in his darkest hours Isak had loved him for everything he was when Even couldn’t. But Even wasn’t, could never be, his reason for living, his saviour, and he wouldn’t let Even live in his memory as such, as the person who saved him from darkness. Even deserved better than to be immortalised in Isak’s memory as a projection of his own mind, as the thing that Isak wanted him to be, and not the person that he had been to Isak. And Isak deserved better than to not acknowledge his own strength and progress in developing into a finer man because he thought it was all thanks to Even. Some of it was thanks to Even. But not all.


	4. 3. when i fall asleep i feel you with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's even pov!!! another one coming soon, the whole month by month thing we just had of isak we will experience from even's perspective.
> 
> honestly this chapter is feelsy as fuck and the two songs are like D:
> 
> edit: for muscle memory listen to the version from the album midnight machines!! i know it's linked but just in case
> 
> i swear, ur comments keep me alive. i tried to bang this out because some of y'all who commented made me so happy, i wanted to do it for u guys.
> 
> dont expect the next one as soon tho :/ it's like, a thought rn. i'll try and tap it out in the next few days for sure.
> 
> and thanks to emma, the biggest star, my beautiful beta, the light of my life, honestly who else could spot my uSELESS punctuation xx

  * _[Muscle Memory - Lights](https://open.spotify.com/track/7zC7Ib9pBRPMtJQUCyEbPJ)_ •



Even wasn’t sure if he was more shattered or confused. The first morning he woke up in the apartment alone he had a mild panic, scrabbling in the sheets feeling for where Isak should have been. He had half a mind to call Isak’s name before the events of the night before threw him back against the pillows with an aborted groan. He felt the cold side of the bed and let a partially formed sob shake his shoulders for an hour before he got up to go to the kitchen, made himself some eggs, then slunk back under the blankets with his plate. He stayed curled up with the plate long after he finished the eggs, making no effort to move as he absently rubbed his own thigh as if Isak’s head lay there, blonde curls spilling over his leg. After a number of hours, the doorbell rang and Even grumbled as he dragged himself out of bed to open the door. Somewhere in his head a hopeful voice was wondering if it was – was wanting it to be - Isak. When Mikael was revealed in the doorway, Even only sighed, looking his friend over and shuffling back into the hallway. Mikael followed, a slight furrow in his brow.

When Even went into the kitchen, brewed himself a cup of tea at snail’s pace and started into the living room with the mug clasped between his hands, and then thought better of himself and made one for Mikael one too, all in silence and not meeting Mikael’s eyes, Mikael finally broke.

“Dude, what’s up with you?” Even didn’t look up, just sighed as he placed the tea next to his friend and collapsed onto the sofa, curling up into the cushions. Mikael was undeterred. It didn’t look like a depressive episode, but Mikael had long since learnt to be patient and push gently, but never too much.

“Where’s Isak?” he tried. Even winced, his brows knitting together and his mouth curling unpleasantly. His nose wrinkled as if he were in pain, and Mikael immediately assumed the worst.

“Is he… okay?” he ventured, tentatively, reaching out a little to put his hand on Even’s knee. The minute nod he got in reply did nothing to soothe his nerves, but he tried to school his expression into one of gentle concern and calmness.

“Okay, so, what’s up?” he pressed, his eyes steady and warm as he looked Even over. Even shifted, uncomfortable, but seemed to be trying to gather himself to answer the question. He made several attempts to articulate himself, each one ending before he got any sound out. His mouth opened and closed a few times, and his gaze flitted unsteadily around the room. Eventually he looked down, focusing on his hands wringing around each other in his lap, breathing in as deeply and steadily as he could. 

“We broke up.”

His voice was so quiet that Mikael hardly heard him. He was about to ask Even to repeat, when the three words struck him with full force and he sucked in a sharp breath. He hadn’t been expecting that at all.

“Oh.”

A small and strangled sound escaped Even’s throat as a tear rolled down his cheek and Mikael was at a loss. He’d never been good at seeing his best friend cry, never really knew what to do to comfort him, whether a hug was good, whether talking it out was helpful. He’d been so glad when Even had come back to him and the boys, reforging their old friendship, and he knew that Isak had helped Even find the mental strength to do so. Isak seemed to know better than anyone what to do when Even was down, and now Isak and Even weren’t together anymore, and Mikael was rigid as he watched Even slowly break down in front of him.

As Even’s shoulders started to shake, something in Mikael clicked into action and he pulled Even’s lanky frame into his arms, tucking the blonde head under his chin and feeling the tears spill hot and wet into his t-shirt collar. He remained still, rubbing his hand soothingly over Even’s back and in his unstyled hair.

Even felt Mikael’s warm palm between his shoulder blades and suddenly it was six months ago when he’d broken down over the bloody short film he was trying _so hard_ to pull together but a string always slipped from his grip and he was losing it, his head splitting under the stress. And Isak had held him just so, tracing over Even’s spine, running his fingers through Even’s hair as he pressed soft kisses into his temple. He reassured him, until Even’s breathing slowed and he fell asleep in his boyfriend’s arms to the steady rhythm of Isak’s chest rising and falling and to the hum of Isak’s throat as he reminded Even over and over: _you’ll get through this, you’re amazing, you’re so talented, I’ll bet your film will be so good everyone else will be blown out of the water._

He stayed like that, silently weeping against Mikael’s neck, for what felt like days, but was only about an hour. When the tears felt sufficiently dry, Even pushed himself up, feeling sheepish and a little embarrassed, but Mikael only offered him a small but warm smile and a nod.

•

It got a little too much being in the apartment, and after the second day surrounded by the smell of _IsakandEven_ , Even gave up, somehow finding the energy to grab a bag of his things, and make it to his parents’ place, where he knew he’d be staying a while. He was already exhausted from the trip when he made it to the door, slotting in his key and pushing it open, loud enough to announce his arrival.

“Hi Even, what are you doing here so suddenly? You didn’t even text,” his mother had said, wiping her hands on her jeans as she leant out of the kitchen doorway. When she’d seen the expression on his face, she’d gone pale, rushing across the hall to pull him into a hug. “Oh sweetpea, what happened?” she’d asked into his ear, stroking his hair as fat tears had rolled down his cheeks.

“We broke up,” he only just managed to choke out, his throat closing on the words. His mother only hugged him tighter, before leading him to his room where he climbed into his bed and didn’t leave for a long time. His parents were mostly busy, so he was left to his own devices, which meant laying in bed doing staring into space, crying, and sleeping.

•

The following week was a mishmash of crying, binge-eating, not leaving bed and rewatching every tragic romance film Even knew. Every scene that reminded him of Isak resulted in waves of sadness and Even could hardly cry tears anymore he’d used so many up. Mikael visited him a few more times with real food, and Yousef also came and cooked for him. They both asked him if he was a masochist because they couldn’t understand why he would watch so many tragic films and be constantly reminded of his broken heart otherwise.

It felt different than it had with Sonja, and it was frightening. With Sonja, he had steadily fallen out of love with her, and while still in a relationship with her he’d become infatuated with Isak, the closed-off, closeted, shy but stunning second year he had been then. He’d fallen from his old relationship headfirst into the arms of a new one, not stopping to pause and be single for any time at all, hell, he’d moved in with Isak just six months in. And here he was, lost and confused about why he was acutely single now, and extremely sad about the fact. It took a week for the information to hit him in the gut like a freight train, and when it did, it took him under. He was aimless, empty and alone, and somehow it was worse than it had ever been. He wasn’t sure if it was just hurt, a depressive episode, or both. All he did know was that the heavy weight keeping him chained to the bed was only getting heavier, and with every day spent sleeping, unfeeling, Even felt his grip on reality slipping. What made it worse was that, for the first time since he was diagnosed, he was alone in a way he’d never been before while handling the depression. Friends could only do so much (or in his case so little), but Isak and Sonja had both known how to be patient, silent and present. They never pushed or pulled, they had just been there, making sure Even would eat if he could, get him in the shower if they could, wash his hair if he couldn’t. As Even collapsed deeper into an apathetic hollowness, the loneliness was almost bone crushing. He didn’t want anyone around, didn’t want anyone to see him as pathetic as he figured he looked, but he also didn’t want to be alone, just wanted Isak to still be his boyfriend and be there, lying in their bed, hugging his back, breathing softly down his neck, making food that was edible, which Even sometimes forgot he’d learnt to do because he’d never had to cook when they were together.

Sometimes Even would spiral like that, one thought leading to another leading to another, a whirlpool of _IsakIsakIsak_ and how much he missed him, how much he missed them. His mind would fog up with memories, too many to really focus on any, just snapshots of moments, too loud for Even’s slow and sleepy brain, and he would feel his coherency slipping away again, as he tumbled down the rabbit hole. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was brooding, hating how much he wanted Isak’s hands on him, hating himself for letting Isak go, hating himself for being such a wreck on his own. And he would be replaying the scenes in his head, hating himself more every time, wishing he’d said something different, wishing he’d done something else, wishing he never had to see Isak looking so distraught, hurt, helpless, angry, appalled. Wishing it hadn’t been him who had made Isak look that way. _Maybe in another universe, if we’d done it differently, it wouldn’t be like this._ He indulged in the parallel universe theory Isak had loved so much, that he’d found so scary, trying to find solace in the knowledge that somewhere, an Isak and Even hadn’t torn each other apart. But he found no comfort when he knew that _that_ Isak and Even wasn’t _this_ Isak and Even, when some other, happier Even wasn’t the one lying in bed, hair greasy and unwashed, shirt sweat stained and slightly damp, bedsheets tangled around his long limbs as they had been for days on end. He felt exhausted and detached, resigned himself to the self-loathing mantra playing a slow and steady beat in his head. 

  * _[And Counting...-Lights](https://open.spotify.com/track/6vPoflA6Y7RdkvbnHn3TAS)_ •



 His dreams, when he had them, were unwanted reminders of what he had lost. Scenes played in his head, raw and uncut with no sense or story to them. They taunted Even with broken promises.

 _The only way you can have something for infinite time is by losing it._ It was almost funny, how true that seemed to become, as he lay in his bed, missing another lecture, neglecting another essay. He was at war in himself, too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but scared of his eyes drifting shut, and the images playing behind his lids taking him back to the time he wanted so desperately to forget, the time he wanted back. Because ultimately he never wanted to forget, he wanted those memories to live on forever, wanted to keep making new ones of the same kind. He wanted the story that was over to keep being told, but no, fuck no, because nothing ever went quite right for him, did it? He was always making mistakes, driving people away from him.

 _Even, you can’t keep hiding from me! You can’t shut yourself away every time, I know what it’s like, I’ve seen it before, it doesn’t scare me._ When Even had reluctantly, painstakingly, allowed Isak in, he’d never felt more naked or vulnerable. But it became easier, to let Isak see him at his worst. Isak had seen all sides of him, it felt natural. _Even, what the fuck, you forgot to get the_ fucking _laundry out of the_ fucking _dryer, I swear to god, you’ll ruin all our clothes one day, what the_ fuck _why can’t you be more responsible._ Even would shout back in kind, all _well I’m fucking sorry I haven’t been doing laundry since forever, Isak, not all of us can be competent like you, except, wait, you’re not fucking competent are you, can’t even make a fucking cup of tea without a kettle,_ both of them fuming, panting, anger in their eyes. Then they’d have rough and angry sex, directing all their frustrations into pushing the bed frame to breaking point, speaking in hushed _sorrys_ and _Ididn’tmeanits_ when morning came. Or they’d just apologise there, when the tears formed warm and wet in their eyes, threatening to spill, and they both felt too guilty and upset to keep fighting. And they always found each other again, even when Isak stormed out, slept on the sofa, or if he was really fucked off, on Jonas’ sofa, he always came home the morning after, sorry and sheepish, sometimes with a box of chocolate or flowers because he knew Even liked romantic gestures like that. His cheeks would be a little flushed from buying something he deemed so embarrassing, stumbling over the words _I’m sorry,_ words Even knew Isak had trouble forming. And Even would return them, no hesitation in his apology, because he knew he meant it, knew he woud forgive Isak every time as long as he came back to him.

• 

“Even, you can’t blame yourself for everything, you know that right?”

Even stared at Mikael blankly, offering no words of confirmation. Of course he didn’t blame himself for _everything_ , but as things were, he sure as hell wasn’t blaming _anyone else_ , not for the break up that distinctly _didn’t have anything to do with anyone else_. He blinked slowly, not moving from his position on the bed, splayed out between the sheets, his head turned to look at Mikael.

“I know you, man, I know you’re just going back and forth in your head about all the things you should’ve done, but, like, it takes two to make a relationship work.”

Even kept staring at him. Did Mikael think he didn’t know this? Of course it took two to make a relationship work, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t any less responsible for his actions. It seemed pretty obvious to him that he would be going back and forth on the things he should’ve done, seeing as he was the one who hadn’t done them. _Seriously, Mikael, what are you getting at? Who else am I supposed to blame for my actions but myself?_ Mikael was looking at him expectantly, but Even couldn’t find the energy to explain himself, so he waited for him to give up and keep talking, as Even knew he surely would. 

“You’re not the only reason it didn’t work out. Like, I’m not saying blame Isak or hate him, and I’m not saying I blame him or hate him, although, won’t lie, I’m not feeling great about him because this is fucking you up, but anyway, you don’t have to hate him to understand that some of the responsibility falls on him.” When Even continued to be silent, Mikael got a bit shifty, sitting uncomfortably in his perch by the window. He squirmed under Even’s steady, emotionless gaze. It felt like years before Even spoke, his voice rusty and grating with disuse.

“I can’t blame him, though.” It was almost a whisper, the words poorly formed in Even’s mouth as he exercised his vocal chords for the first time in what was probably a week. It wasn’t a surprising confession, not really, but Mikael was taken aback that Even had spoken at all. He took a moment to process what Even had said, trying to think of the right thing to tell him, knowing that Even was a bit of stubborn little bitch sometimes. Not that he wanted to blame Even’s depression for that stubbornness, but it definitely made it harder to really get through to him. Mikael would need to exercise patience, but he loved Even a little too much to not find it in his heart to do so.

“You don’t have to, Even. Not yet,” he said finally, looking at his friend, holding eye contact, unwavering. He felt like he was pleading, trying to make Even see sense. It didn’t really feel like the right time to have the conversation, considering it was probably the first time Even had gotten out of bed in a week and half, and it was all a bit much. Even had just collapsed on the bed as soon as they got back, and Mikael knew he would have to go soon, to leave Even to his sleep.

• 

Against his better judgement, Even ended up thinking tirelessly about Mikael’s words. _You don’t have to. Not yet._ And Even knew what he meant. He knew because he’d been in a relationship before. The heartbreak hadn’t been the same, hadn’t been as gut-wrenchingly, soul-wreckingly painful. But as he’d steadily fallen out of love with Sonja, he had blamed her; he’d blamed her for controlling him, for trying to mother him instead of being his girlfriend, for not giving him his headspace, for tip-toeing around him, making him feel less than normal as a result. He’d blamed her for everything she’d done wrong, and he’d shouldered the blame for not ending it sooner, for taking advantage of her love because it was easy to be with her. Because she was always there for him, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted. He had used her for comfort, used her because being in a relationship was easy for him. And he never took a moment to really be single, be away from having someone else take care of him. It made sense in his head, really, what Mikael was getting at. _Take some time for yourself. Focus on you, don’t jump from relationship to relationship. Love yourself._ It made sense, objectively, but Even knew it wouldn’t be that simple. He knew, as he continued to berate himself for everything he’d said wrong, every action he wished he could take back, that getting over Isak would take time, would take so long that Even couldn’t see the end of it at all. He knew all of this, but somewhere locked deep in the recesses of his heart, trapped like it had been in Pandora’s Box, a candle burned as hope reawakened in his chest. He couldn’t see anything but the walls he’d built himself into, but there was that hope, flaming quietly between his lungs, undiscovered as of yet, but there nonetheless; hope that he would make it out of the darkness that consumed him.

 

 


	5. 4. pick it all up and start again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaahhh this was horrendous to write, honestly. it was such a challenge. thanks to all my friends for encouraging me and dragging me through two weeks of being sick and mopey and drinking while my whole body screamed at me to lay off and sleep. 
> 
> this chapter is a bit wild and high and low and just. enjoy it because it's angsty smut and idek how i managed it bc it was so freaking hard to write.
> 
> TW ( i felt i should add a trigger warning after reading this back three months later :/ ) references to suicidal thoughts and descriptions of depression
> 
> !!!! there's some dodgy sex stuff so pls check notes if dodgy sex stuff makes u sad !!!!
> 
> THANK U MY BEAUTIFUL STAR EMMA FOR BETAING AND PROOFING AND GRAMMAR CORRECTING MY SLEEP STARVED BRAIN. and for making a playlist to motivate me thru this chap. u deserve the world my gal xxx
> 
> (pls leave a comment it makes my world turn)

  * [_Medicine- Daughter_](https://open.spotify.com/track/6QhB4cwTarnpTb4dvXzuoD)•



One month after the break-up, Even seemed to come out of the depression. It was cloudy and uncertain, as with the end of any depressive episode, but it was even more so with the added weight of heartbreak. His slow journey into being awake and ordinarily functioning was stilted by reminders of Isak that sent him straight back into bed with fresh tears and tiredness. He wasn’t really sure whether the depression was ending, because everything still hurt; but the pain was different, and so he figured it would be slow, but at least it was getting better. The fog of relentless exhaustion cleared, the shackles imprisoning him in his mind, but the lonely heaviness in his chest sank deeper, pooling cold in his belly. He was lost as he overcame one finite to find himself swallowed by another that wasn’t. Going through such depression was never easy, and while it happened it didn’t feel like it would end, but occasional spots of rationality reminded him that it would – Isak’s patient breathing beside him on the bed, his friends never failing to visit him. It was their faith in his recovery that just about got him through it, their trust that he’d be fine, and his own experience of making it through every time. Yet, no matter what sense his friends could try and talk into him, he never felt any less ruined by the break-up, never felt like the end of the pain was foreseeable.

The pain seemed worse, in a way - the acuteness of his heart being seared in several shattered shards, each piece sharp and cutting into his ribs, intensified by the fading numbness. With each day that the fog cleared, the severe skyline of his broken heart stood ever starker against the backdrop of his mind. He was consumed by it, the gravity of it wreaking havoc on his well-being. He skipped classes, he turned in poor work. Halfway through his final year in university, Even knew it was a dangerous time for the standard to be slipping, but finding any bother to do anything but mope and cry was difficult. All he could feel was pain, he was built into a chimney of pain, the fire below him burning him slowly, an inferno of pain.

The hurt was visceral, it leeched into his bloodstream from some toxic split in his ribcage. It rendered him useless, even when the tendrils of exhaustion uncurled from his headspace, the blackness fading to grey, leaving him staring into a den of flames. He had never known pain to be so raw, in all his experience it had been heavy, unshakeable, imprisoning. Depression was heavy, slow, lethargic. Heartbreak was violent, unpredictable, reckless. It was tumultuous, and it left Even afraid, left him shaking and begging to be left alone. He almost wished for the sweet release of falling into haze again, the familiar low throb of an episode. _The irony of choosing between two unfathomable pains_ , Even thought with bitter humour, _I’d rather be dead and yet here I am suffering both at once._ His friends were at a loss, his parents frazzled and nervous. He didn’t even know what was keeping him from taking a kitchen knife to his wrists, but he didn’t. He sporadically attended lectures, he went home, he attempted to write his set essays, attempted to pull a decent film project out of somewhere so as to earn his degree, but every time he fell short. He was uninspired, and he was living in sepia tones, the only things he saw in full colour being the bursts of memories that would shake his shoulders with tears he didn’t know he had in him to cry. 

•

“Even, for fuck’s sake, do you even want to get a degree?” Mikael groaned, exasperated, chucking the essay onto the table in KB, shooting Even a distraught look. Even hung his head, ashamed, as the _9/20_ glared at him in angry red biro scrawl.

“This is a shit grade, Even, and you know you can do better than this, what the fuck.” Mikael was obviously not having it, appalled at the low mark that, frankly, Even should never have gotten, should never have allowed himself to get. 

“Can you rewrite it? Ask them to mark it again? How much does this paper matter?” Even continued to avoid Mikael’s pointed gaze as Mikael audibly sulked over the shortcoming.

“Even it’s been over a month. I know it’s not fitting to your grandiose, tragic film, _Romeo+Juliet_ or whatever-the-fuck-you-think-it-is big old cinematic life story, but you need to pull yourself the _fuck_ together. I hate to be that guy, Even, but, Jesus, just this once, cut the bullshit and realise you have a university course to complete, you have a _fucking degree_ to earn. It’s been more than a month. The least you can do is keep your sad drama out of your school work. I’m not telling you to get over it. I’m not telling you that you can’t be sad anymore. I’m just saying. Keep. It. Out. Of. Your. Work. Get it in your thick but brilliant head. Cry over him at home, when you get into your lectures you leave your bullshit at the door. The only time, and I mean Only Time, you bring that sad shit into class is when you use it to write your story for your film project.” Mikael paused to breathe, panting slightly after ranting his frustrations, and Even watched him wide-eyed, not daring to say a word. When he opened his mouth to try and say something, Mikael held up a hand, shushing him and continuing his speech.

“Don’t think I don’t know about your procrastinating off that film project Even. I swear to god. You are brilliant, stop fucking around, and do your work. I know you can, I’m with you every step of the way if you need me, I swear, I believe in you.”

•

He finally cleared out the apartment, passed it on to new tenants. He hadn’t been very involved in it all – the dealings largely settled by Jonas and Mikael, who Even reckoned were, simply, the best friends you could ask for. They pretty much took charge of the whole debacle, taking whatever they thought the boys would want to keep, selling the rest, splitting the money. Even just about found the energy to insist they take a cut of the cash to pay for their services, knowing both Isak and he would’ve been fucked without them. He didn’t know how it made him feel, to know that Isak, apparently, also couldn’t handle going back to the apartment to deal with it first-hand. It didn’t bring him any comfort, but Even didn’t try to dwell on it too much to know how it made him feel anyway. Regardless of his feelings, the apartment was out of his hands, and for that, at least, he was unimaginably grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could handle such a clinical separation directly; especially not so soon, especially not if he was dealing with Isak.

•

Three months after the break-up, Even managed to throw himself into his school work totally, desperately. He managed to distract himself from his pain by directing all of his energy into just earning his degree. He channelled all of his inspiration and hurt and heart into his film project, into film studies, into sound and lights and wide shots and camera angles and background music. It worked as a distraction, and thank fuck that he was damn good at it, too, otherwise he’d really be ruined for his degree. It was a temporary coping mechanism, sure, to not think about how he was torn in half, but Mikael was right when he said that Even couldn’t throw away three years of university over a broken heart. It was always going to be messy to sort out his priorities, but Even recognised that, in the long run, completing his degree was of serious benefit to him. He had all the time in the world to get over Isak after; he just had to wait one month or so more. He just had to roll on, full steam ahead, not stopping to think or process at all, hurtle at break neck speed towards the end of the course. It was the only way he could think of to see it through without just breaking down in the middle. He reckoned if he went fast enough, even if he faltered, his momentum would carry him through the last few weeks, through his exams, through his film showing, through his graduation and _then_ chuck him violently out of the other end to face the music. Unfortunately, neglecting his pain was not really a long-term solution, as he was already bursting at the seams, but he willed himself to keep it in, at least just long enough to graduate.

He’d found an apartment to live in, and called on his friends to see who might be able to split the rent with him. Elias, Adam and Mutta had stepped up pretty eagerly, claiming they were tired of their current situations. Apparently they’d been waiting on an excuse to escape their respective shared hovels for a while now, and jumped at the opportunity. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a lot easier than having to go out and find new people to live with, so Even welcomed it. It also meant he didn’t have that added stress when he was just trying to focus on university, and it made it a lot easier. He was able to live relatively peacefully among friends, and try to tune out the nagging sensation in his head that returned in moments of quiet that he was neglecting something. He knew what it was, but he would do everything in his power to vehemently pretend he didn’t until he believed it.

•

“Even, I know it’s hard, but you’re actually so close to the end, and dude, I’m fucking proud as shit of you.” Mikael was crouched on the linoleum tiles of the bathroom floor, rubbing circles into Even’s back. Even was crying into the side of the bathtub, his medication (that he’d managed to regularly take due to the insistent monitoring by Mikael, his mother, and the boys he now lived with) spilled onto the floor and his shoulders shaking. He hadn’t tried to do anything; he’d just had a bit of a panic attack and collapsed as he was trying to take his morning meds, but the boys had freaked out and so there they were, Mikael consoling Even on the bathroom floor while Even tried to calm his unsteady breathing.

Even had, ultimately, had a minor breakdown in the middle. The maths all checked out, though, and his momentum was going to carry him through the rest of it. He’d already completed his film, shown it and had his professors congratulate him for what a good piece it was, but he still had his exams in two weeks and he was beyond stressed. He had pushed himself to the breaking point a little, and it’s not like he blamed the boys for trying to make him eat a ‘proper breakfast,’ but it had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, and he just snapped. As he sauntered away, breathing heavily around the apple he was chewing viciously, he’d worked himself up into a frenzy, and as he tried to take his morning pills it’d bubbled out of control and the panic kicked in. Adam found him on the floor hyperventilating after he heard the clatter of Even falling.

• 

Somehow, Even actually completed his exams, to a decently high standard that left him as close to proud of himself as he could get. He almost felt like he was on the upswing, as if he could come out of his graduation ceremony, go out and get drunk, and be properly free of his worries. And so, he did; on the night of his graduation, he went out drinking, he got pretty wasted, and he wasn’t too sure because his memory was fucked, but he might’ve received a sloppy blowjob in a club bathroom. He might’ve been the one to give the blowjob, though, or maybe both.

  * _[Take Me to Church- Hozier•](https://open.spotify.com/track/0IqKeD8ZSP72KbGYyzEcAs)_



Five months after the break-up, Even was on a reckless road. Making it through his final year of university meant he was left in the limbo on the other side of education, looking for a job or an internship, trying to figure out _what_ he wanted to do, or _how_ he could do what he might want to do. Or, in Even’s case, let the full force of a break-up he had to suppress in order to pass his third year hit him square in the chest. And he had no obligations, either. He had no school to attend, no job to go to. What he did have was a broken heart and copious savings from his parents and past work. So the tidal wave of emptiness that took him under also took him to club after pub after bar after club. He was drinking, he was smoking. He thought nothing of his health, and no one could really stop him because it wasn’t like he was throwing his degree away. It was the summer after uni, it was only two months of recklessness, it was still within reason that he might want to go and get lashed every night. His behaviour was excessive, sure, but it was justifiable to an extent.

• 

He was in the fourth, or maybe fifth, establishment of the night. Anywhere that alcohol was served was a place Even would go to. He’d go there after downing half a bottle of vodka for pre-drinks, his room smelling awfully like he’d hotboxed in it for the whole day. Elias, Adam and Mutta hardly saw him at home because they all worked during the day, and when they came home at varying times of the evening, Even would be gone already, lost to the night, the only evidence he lived there at all being the noxious smoke fumes curling under his door. They didn’t even bother checking his room. Sometimes he’d be there, but there was no talking to him, he was already far gone by then. He’d slip out unnoticed, and slink back in again at some ungodly hour just before sunup.

Even was dancing in the middle of the club. At least, he thought it was a club, he wasn’t really sure, but he was dancing and there was a steady thrumming beat and a bass line to shake him, so it didn’t matter. The past three, possibly four establishments had failed to satiate his thirst – for what he didn’t know, but he knew he wasn’t fulfilled – so he continued to bar crawl until something lit a fire in him. The music was moving through him, and he was letting it twist and turn his body as it wished. He ceded control to the night, and in doing so, the night gifted him with a plethora of hungry gazes directed his way. Men and women watched him on the dancefloor, and he felt a spark ignite. As the attention on him grew, the more outlandish he became, moving to the beat, hardly looking at anyone, just enjoying the eyes on him. He hadn’t expected it, when he felt a body against his, but he wasn’t surprised. The girl had a plush, round ass, and it felt good against him. Her waist was slim, and she had an intoxicating hourglass. She was bold, bold enough to be the one to claim Even for the night when he obviously had half the club’s attention. So Even indulged her, and indulged himself in her body, in the feeling of her curves, of her bum pressed against his crotch, of the movements of her hips against him, grinding down on him.

•

At some point she turned, whether on her own or because Even had flipped her round, no one could tell. It didn’t really matter, all of Even’s focus drawn to her face, now up in his, her breath ghosting his lips as he slotted one leg between hers and she continued to grind down on him. They were flush against each other, moving in time, undulating as one. Her hands were wound in his hair and his hands were gripping her thighs and her back and her waist and the side of her ribs, a hair’s breadth from squeezing her breasts, but never actually going for it, always teasing. And it went on, and eyes were still on him, on them, on this stunning couple in the middle of the dancefloor at some small hour. Even was soaking it up, basking in the smoke and lights and the sensations.

•

Even wasn’t sure when he pushed her into the wall, or when her arms snaked around his neck, or when his lips found hers, but it all happened, obviously, because they were kissing in a softcore porn kind of way against the side of the club.

•

Her apartment was small, but tidy, and smelled fresh and clean. He didn’t bother to absorb it though, because they didn’t even make it to her bedroom when his lips found hers again. He had one focus: to alleviate the frustration in his jeans, and to enjoy the feeling of being alive that coursed through his veins. He crowded her against the kitchen counter, hoisting her up onto it, gripping her thighs tight and biting hard on her lower lip as he dragged it between his teeth. Her fingernails clawed at his shirt and he detached from her briefly to take it off, throwing it to the side, and then he was on her again, pulling her dress over her head, finally pressing his hands into the warmth of her breasts.

•

He was like an animal, rutting into her tight heat, starved of physical contact and sexually frustrated. He hadn’t felt someone around him in months, hadn’t felt the drive to touch himself, and he was losing himself in all the stimulation to his nerves. Time was slowing down around him as he focused only on the sticky softness surrounding him, and maybe the feeling of _sex_ overwhelmed him, or maybe the sheer quantity of intoxicants coursing through his system were affecting him more than he let on, but suddenly he wasn’t in the kitchen of the girl he went home with anymore.

•

The air smelled thickly of sweat, sex, and semen. It smelled of boys and libido. The body in Even’s arms was firm, strong, toned. Muscles tensing and relaxing under pale skin as hips rolled against Even, hands sliding up his back, now slick and slippery with sweat. He felt the scratch marks hot and fresh by his spine, the skin seared by his shoulders. Hot breath tickled the lobes of his ears and somewhere in his brain he registered his name being sung on warm whispers pressed into the flesh of his neck. His own fingers were pressed into narrow, hard hips, his palm pressed against a pale throat, the feeling of an Adam’s apple straining under the pressure. His face was hidden in blonde, sweaty hair, surrounded by musk and salt, revelling in the purple marks decorating a firm jaw line. As he raised his head a little, tendrils of hair dropping into his eyes, he registered thin, Cupid’s bow lips stretched over teeth, an open mouth stuttering out his name on choked gasps of pleasure.

•

He was hazy, the girl’s legs closed around his back, and she was moaning with an obscene and high voice that he tried to ignore. He had been enjoying whatever images had been floating in his mind, a memory he couldn’t quite grasp, his brain stupid from alcohol, weed and sex. He was mindless and lost in just feeling himself wrapped up tight, chasing his climax.

•

The combination of everything was tearing Even apart – he was dizzy, surrounded by sensations, the breath on his neck and by his ear, the scratches on his skin, the heat around him, the planes of flesh under him, the muscles beneath his fingertips. Everything was just _hothothot_ and he couldn’t think, his mouth barely working, his tongue tangled on praise and how good he felt. He couldn’t hear what words were pouring out of his mouth but he could feel them rolling off his breath as he approached his peak.

• 

_ohsogoodforme ohyes ohisak isakisakisak isaaak_

_•_

Even felt himself shaken from his stupor as he dropped over the edge, the girl he was still buried in no longer whining into his hair as she fixed him with a shocked, offended glare. He was coming down hard, and it was a rude awakening. He felt his fight or flight reaction welling up in his stomach, and he was running away. Pulling on his pants, his jeans, his shirt, shoes, socks, legging it out of the girl’s apartment, the girl _whose name he didn’t even know_. Away into the night, his hair pulled and his skin bitten, feeling empty again, like the luck he’d had for the night had drained right out.

  * _[Lucky- Radiohead•](https://open.spotify.com/track/6n7GUf2h8D2Ad2wUy5s7nE)_



Seven months after breaking up, Even had fought a losing battle with not going out and getting wasted so much. He was better now, in that he had a part time job at the local library three days a week, and that provided some structure to his day. And he wasn’t locked in his room 24/7, coming out of his hovel every so often to cook for his flatmates. He was living something that resembled a life, taking his meds again after his mental chaos two months prior. He had been a mess then, and he was basically a mess now, only one with a semblance of order. And he was still going out and drinking. A lot. 

His friends were past the point of intervening because it wasn’t like he didn’t have a job; it wasn’t like he didn’t talk to them or go out with them. He behaved in an arguably ordinary way. But he wasn’t used to being alone, and they weren’t used to it either, so they didn’t know what to look for, really, in what his behaviour should be like, were he to be treating himself well and taking care. They were pretty sure, though, that Even’s self-medicating habits were not him treating himself well at all, and they were worried, and Even hated it, hated their pity and their confusion and their disdain. He hated what he thought was them looking down on him, but really was a frustration that ran deeper, a frustration that they couldn’t do anything for him rather than being angry at him. He was so swept up in his self-loathing and self-pity that he couldn’t see outside of anything being his fault. It was the kind of deep-seated melancholy that made him self-centred in a way he couldn’t control, so drowned in his own sorrow that he saw none of it affecting others. And their sadness, an accessory to his, only drove him further away from them, as much as he wanted to open up to them deep down.

•

He was in the club again, Red Bull dripping down his chin after his fourth Jaegerbomb. His fourth Jaegerbomb after half a bottle of spiced rum, two gin and tonics, an Aperol Spritz some guy had ordered from him in the bar he was at before. He hadn’t been out in a while, and he was fine, really, _fine_. He wasn’t going to lose himself again, not like before when he was a shell of himself, lost in drinking, smoking and having sex. He hadn’t done anything that reckless in a month, he was improving. He was taking care of himself. One night of carelessness couldn’t carry him away, wouldn’t carry him away. He knew the alcohol had his head in a fuzzy hold, but it didn’t matter because he was present enough, controlled enough to handle it.

He was ignoring the texts asking how he was doing because he was _trying to prove a point_ that he was totally capable of handling himself without the _constant monitoring_. And he was enjoying himself, too. The throngs of people moving around him, the sweat in the air, steam rising off intoxicated bodies. He was enveloped in it, in the atmosphere of it, the drunken stupor turning his blood thick, slowing the time around him until it dripped sweet, sticky and syrupy in the air. A slow, sluggish chaos unfolded around him as bodies blended together, and Even’s vision was clouding and he was slipping away and losing control.

• 

He wasn’t fully present, but his body was responding. The warmth touching him, the words reassuring him. And he couldn’t hear it, but he was pretty sure half of the flirtatious conversation was coming out of his mouth. What he was trying to achieve with this, he hardly knew – he was barely aware of what was happening as he stumbled out of the club, laughing alongside what looked like an excited and also pretty wasted couple. A man and a woman, not much older than him. And the three of them were touching, talking, laughing, giddy on each other as they trickled through the streets of Oslo. Even had no idea where they were going, or what was really happening, but his body remained faithful, and continued to carry him, continued to speak for him, touch for him, laugh for him.

• 

The first thing he really noticed as he slipped into consciousness was the overwhelming stench of sweat. The second thing he noticed was his raging erection. The third thing he noticed was his hands on a man’s back, and the heat of said man around his raging erection.

He dipped in and out of awareness, but he was catching on pretty quickly to the fact that he was presently engaged in a threesome with a rambunctious couple. Even wasn’t sure, as his sobriety caught up with him, what part was making him feel more ill – the tendrils of hangover head over curling around his brain, or the sweaty scene unfolding beneath him.

•

He’d pressed Isak face-first against many walls before, been pressed against many by Isak before, but there was something thrilling about taking someone from behind that he could never shake. The noises coming out of Isak’s throat, breathy and barely contained. Isak had never been _really loud_ in bed, but he was definitely vocal, and when Even couldn’t see his face, the sounds Isak made never failed to get him going, to remind him that he was definitely doing something right. And Even never tired of the _view_ of Isak’s back stretching pale and long, the muscles of his shoulders tight as he braced himself against whatever wall or bedframe Even was as good as slamming him into.

• 

It was happening again, he was slipping into scenes and memories he hadn’t let go of. It was like a repeat, and he realised with every thrust into the man he’d gone home with, the man who was fucking his girlfriend while getting fucked by Even, every thrust accompanied with the fleeting sensation of his fingers in Isak’s mouth, that nothing had _fucking changed_ since two months ago. He’d gotten a job, sure, he was on his meds again, sure, but here he was, fucking for the sake of fucking, and _remembering Isak to get himself off._ And the worst part was, it was working. He could taste his climax on his tongue, and as he slipped over the edge, he tasted Isak’s name on it too, rolling out between his lips like second nature.

•

He had run away, back to his apartment, and he was pretty sure he was crying. He wasn’t sure when the tears had come, but his face was wet and his eyes stung.

• 

The hangover had been head-splitting and painful, but it had been the kick he needed. He was going to try, he reckoned, to cope with the pain without recklessly self-medicating.

  * _[Forget You in LA- Poema•](https://open.spotify.com/track/7i8nQBnV9Nt2WnmBH7sUT8)_



Nine months after breaking up, Even had patched up with his boys again, had opened up to them after his drunken threesome that he frankly hadn’t enjoyed. Talking to them about it, about how he had never really let go of Isak because he’d had something to distract himself from the break-up for so long, helped him finally admit it to himself. It was painful, liberating, cathartic. Elias had been supportive in his brotherly way, years of practice evident in the balanced way he soothed Even with words and with his hands rubbing strong lines up Even’s back. Adam and Mutta had listened, supportive but never intrusive. And Even was so grateful for his friends, who had been patient and forgiving and understanding when he thought he didn’t deserve it. His friends who had never asked for anything back from him, and never made him feel guilty.

• 

He had quit his job at the library and applied for a payed internship at NRK. He’d had Mikael coach him vigorously for his interview, and he felt semi-confident about how it went. He was waiting on the email with the results of his application like a hawk. It’d been a big step for him, to chase his filmmaker dreams, even if only in a small way. And while his confidence was shaky, his résumé was strong, and he had a solid portfolio of film work from his courses and extracurriculars. Despite being riddled with uncertainty and self-doubt, he had applied anyway, and Mikael and the boys had been there to remind him how good he was every time. Maybe he had cried a little bit because at first their words reminded him of Isak’s, but that was hardly important when the acceptance email had come through and Even was truly, wholly proud of and happy for himself. And he wasn’t looking for a Sonja or an Isak, wasn’t looking immediately for an _other half_ to share the news with. 

That night he had dinner with the boys, and they went out to a slightly fancier bistro, all happy to pay that little extra to celebrate. Even felt lighter than he had done in months, a weight he’d grown used to being there lifting off his chest. His laughter was coming easier, his smile stretching wider, his banter playful and cheery. He felt good about himself, comfortable being alone, and suddenly he wanted to really indulge himself, do something grand for himself. He wanted to extend one of those grand romantic gestures he’d become known for to himself, and so he did. Later that evening, as they were departing from dinner to head on home, he pulled Mikael aside.

“Do you want to take a holiday with me?”

“What?”

“A short one, just four days. A holiday. With me.”

“I mean, sure, but like, logistics,” Mikael was bemused, his eyes wrinkling in the corners as a suppressed a grin marred by confusion tugged at his lips. He was watching Even with distinct fondness, and Even felt loved in a way he’d forgotten how to feel.

“I don’t know, like, soon. Impromptu. Four days. To London or Paris or something.”

“Ok.” 

“Ok?”

“You plan it, I’m all in,” Mikael said with a firm and warm smile gracing his lips. His hand found Even’s shoulder, squeezing it, and pulling Even into a solid hug.

•

When they got back from London, Even felt refreshed and indulged. The buzz of the crowds in Piccadilly, the raunchy night-time confidence of drag queens in Soho, the eclectic antique hubbub in Portobello; the aliveness of the city had been a welcome relief from the stagnating pace of his own familiar streets. Not that Oslo was stagnant, per se, it was just that Even needed a change of pace, needed to be thrown into a different place, unfamiliar and bustling, splitting at the seams with people. And he felt sufficiently riled up on returning, the noise and swell of a huge city still coursing inspiration through his veins. He signed up for a painting course, ready to break out his oils and acrylics, the caps glued onto the tubes by long-since-dried paint.

He even cracked out his guitar, dusty with disuse. The strings were so far out of tune it didn’t even sound like a guitar, whining pitchy and strangled tunes at him. His body was humming with energy again, he was recovering the wet tangibility of artistic impulse, leaking out of him in every form of creative expression that he practised. He was writing songs, bad as they might be, poems to a chord progression; he was drawing, little cartoons doodled on napkins and newspapers and on the back of his hand. He was watching arthouse films again, and he was relishing the feeling of loving to do things again, of enjoying the passions that had become so empty.

•

With the return of his happiness, though, did come the tugging in his chest that came when he got hit on in the bar. He was open to it, sure, but it never felt right. He knew it was just the lingering heartbreak, but he couldn’t shake the certainty that he’d never _stop loving Isak_. Because, frankly, it was true. What he and Isak had was something else, something special. And it was also over, now, and that was a fact Even was on the way to reconciling with. He was coming to realise that the soft spot he had for Isak was ok. It didn’t mean he couldn’t love again, couldn’t enjoy love again. He could, of course he could, he had to let himself, and he would, he was trying to already. It was a process, albeit a slow one, but it was happening and Even could feel it every time he was more open to flirting back, every time a box of memories opened in his chest and rather than feeling torn and empty he felt fond. He let those memories hang soft and fuzzy in his head, a time of his life he wouldn’t trade for the world, a time he wouldn’t give away for anything. A love he carried warm and dry and safe in his heart, but one that was in a little box, filed away. It was a love he’d never let go, but he wouldn’t let it consume him either; a love he wouldn’t cling to until it ruined him. He would cherish it, not be fed by it. And he didn’t mind that, didn’t mind the ebbing pain; he was glad to be graced by the relief of an ending heartbreak, of the consolidation he was reaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so theres a bunch of sex in this chapter. it's not, like, too explicit or anything, but if ur not into that don't read the five months and seven months sections because they're pretty much just sex, and it's pretty dub-con sex. there's some flashback sex too. there's just a lot of sex but like most of the sex is not evak sex so if that bothers u don't read !!! 
> 
> in summary so u can skip, at five months, even has sex w a girl and gets all wrapped up in memories of isak, and at seven months, even ends up in a threesome w a couple and he has sex w the guy and he's like really wasted and gets wrapped up in mems again and it's just not super pretty.


	6. 5. i hope one day you get the sense to call me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boy im sorry this chap is so short it's just writers block is a bitch and i didn't want to keep this off for so long. i've long since mastered concise writing so lengthy descriptive stuff like i've been doing really sucks the energy out of me. either way the quicker i get thru all this angsty bollocks the quicker it becomes easy for me to write the pleasantries. 
> 
> im so sorry this has taken me so long and i'll try and have the next chap up soon
> 
> im also so sorry it's so short but it's gonna be longer and better soon
> 
> theres a really long chapter on its way i promise xx
> 
> also this isnt betaed lol so sorry for mistakes
> 
> comments literally make me write like nothing inspires me more so those of u that gifted me w comments have all my love and i love u and did u kno that i love u

  * [On Hold- The xx](https://open.spotify.com/track/5CPqOpKSk0QcJ3dGdaWcRB) •



The first month was hectic and exciting. It felt like his life was in hyper-drive because so much was happening in such a short space of time. Isak was trying to keep himself from being overwhelmed by all his new surroundings, but it was so hard when he was juggling unpacking his boxes of shit with living his life like a functioning human being and working like a dog at the institute. He was undeniably stretched, but the promise of salary and the invigoration of applying his knowledge to the subject he loved motivated him. A full time, payed placement. He was living a quasi adult life.

It was also made easier by having Eskild there. Eskild, who took him out a few times in the first few weeks, to clubs and bars and museums, introducing him to scenic parks to walk through. He had brought him milk and bread and coffee when he had just moved in, predicting that Isak would have jack-shit with him when he arrived. When Isak got desperate, having someone he could call was relieving, loathe as he was to admit it. And call he did, for the opening hours of the supermarket, for the way back from the bar at one a.m. And Eskild, bless his heart, rescued him every time, soothing voice tinny over Isak’s phone speaker as he directed him home. Despite his hatred for going soft on Eskild, he did try to say _thank you_ by taking Eskild out for coffee when he found a hidden gem of a café tucked away in a corner of the neighbourhood by the institute. The coffee was good, if a little on the overpriced side, and the décor was erring on the wrong side of too hipster for Isak’s liking, with it’s repurposed mason jars and plant pots, but it was a pleasant spot, and the ambient jazz music didn’t go amiss. If Eskild figured out what the gesture was about, which he probably did, he didn’t say anything, making Isak immeasurably more grateful.

He soon settled into easy routines, going for runs on the weekends, trying out routes until he found one that pleased him. He joined the local gym, working out to destress, to meet other chill guys who worked out regularly. He was hardly a fitness buff, but it was nice to chat to someone about something that wasn’t cancer proteins. On Thursdays he joined the interns of other research groups for evening drinks, trying to form friendships he could keep for the year. And alone as he sometimes felt, it was refreshing. He was starting again, just as he needed to.

It felt good also to build a network – his gym friends, his work friends. He was building a life for himself, from the ground up, with the foundation of home and job laid down. He was making something good for himself out of the pain he was healing from.

•

He was at the bar with Lise and Karl, a little more drunk than he’d planned on getting that afternoon. To be fair, they were all a good deal to the wrong side of tipsy, erring on _drunk_ drunk, Lise barely keeping from toppling in her heeled boots, which were _hardly even high heels Lise that’s an inch and a half you’re just drunk._ Karl was a happy, sappy, dangerous drunk. The kind that did dumb shit because he felt so light and loved. And Isak, well, he had a bit of a reputation for being either mopey or horny. And in that moment, flanked by his drunk friends and checking out any tall guy at the bar, Isak was both. Too drunk to care about how whiney he probably came across, he latched onto any guy who so much as smiled at him politely. He and Lise were a cackling mess, calling guys, trying to drunkenly decide if the man was gay or straight before grabbing on like predators. Sloppy, drunk and chaotic predators, but predatory nonetheless. Isak was sexually frustrated. He hadn’t been able to finish himself off in a long time; when he got in the mood he would try to get himself off with some mood music and a couple half-hearted tugs, but he got tired quickly, softening up and feeling grumpy. It was unpleasant, wanting to gratify himself and not being able to. He wanted to be sexual, wanted to feel sexy, to feel desired, so he was scouting for a hook-up. He was drunker than he had been in a long time, and his friends from high school were not around to pity or judge him for his recklessness.

So it was, that he was drunk and horny, and frustrated because he hadn’t gotten off in about a year, and he needed release. One semi-decent looking guy making eyes at him from across the bar would have to suffice for Isak. He swaggered over, trying to look elegant and classy but stumbling a little too much to pull it off. The guy seemed to find it oddly charming, though, so Isak persevered, sliding into the bar stool next to the guy.

“Hi,” he said, trying to muster up some game; he was desperately out of practice but he figured it had to be in there somewhere if he had gotten by so well at Nissen playing the suave straight boy. 

“Hello,” the guy grinned back, extending a hand to shake. Isak gripped it warmly.

“I’m Jon, it’s a pleasure to finally talk to you.”

“Isak.”

•

They headed back to Jon’s place, mostly because Isak was too drunk to really remember where he was going, but also because he wasn’t ready to be bringing guys back. It may have been nearly a year, but his heart wasn’t quite healed over to sustain that kind of intrusion into his space. As they crossed the threshold, Jon enthusiastically crowded Isak against the front door, attaching their lips and pressing into him. Isak responded in kind, fuelled by his drunken libido. He pushed off the door, Jon stumbling backwards to what was presumably his bedroom. As they entered, Isak’s half-lidded eyes found the bed, and he started to push Jon towards it, grunting as they found it and unceremoniously fell onto it. A feeling a mixture of dread and excitement started to settle in Isak’s stomach. Jon continued to kiss him, pulling at his neck. Isak was on top of him, but he felt small. He was sobering up fast; he was in another guy’s apartment, in his room, pressing him into his bed, totally in control and totally out of his depth. The alcohol-driven horniness was dissipating at an alarming rate and Isak wanted out. He was a babbling mess, a mixture of _I’msorrys_ and _Icantdothises_ falling out of his mouth as he pulled away, horrified. Jon was looking at him, offended and confused, but also too much in shock to stop him as Isak backed away, his feet carrying him clumsily out of the door, out of Jon’s apartment, sprinting out into the streets of Bergen and Isak in his drunken state had no idea where he was going.

It was only the following Monday that Isak realised that Jon worked at reception, that Jon had been the eyes he felt following him. He felt awful about it, because he knew Jon was a lovely guy. He was young and dedicated, and the staff at the institute actually liked him, which, for a guy who worked at reception, was quite the feat. Isak felt positively shit. He’d been horny and lonely and he’d tried to use some random guy for release, and then freaked out because his heart still burnt a dim candle for a man Isak couldn’t have any more. But it was even worse than he’d thought – Jon wasn’t _some random guy_ , no, Jon was the pure-hearted young receptionist who Isak had smiled at in the lift, who Isak had offered exhausted _goodmornings_ to, Jon was a good man, and a kind man. And Isak had taken advantage of him, because he was chasing his need to feel wanted again.

• 

Jon laughed off Isak’s desperate apologies, and told him it was fine, Isak was drunk out of his mind and it was probably for the best they hadn’t done anything that night, and Isak was floored by Jon’s kindness. He was so floored that he asked Jon out for drinks again, because the guy deserved Isak’s effort and attention.

•

Jon was funny and kind and genuine, and Isak liked him, he really did, he just couldn’t get into it. He knew, for sure, he’d reached a place where he was taking care of himself, doing things for himself. He ate well, he went for runs and to the gym, he went out with Karl and Lise on Thursday, he went to art galleries with Eskild and he hung out with Jonas and the boys on Skype. He had indulged himself with the odd emotional phone call to Eva, he had kept his weekly check-ins with Sana. He was in a good place. He was just not into Jon. He had _tried_ , he really had; he’d gotten on his knees for Jon, he’d curled his fingers into Jon’s hair, he’d let Jon pull pleasure out of him, but he wouldn’t sink into Jon’s tightness, he wouldn’t spread his legs for him. Jon was funny and kind and genuine, but every time he talked about a film he liked, Isak thought of someone else’s bright eyes. Every time Jon moaned his name, high in his throat, Isak saw someone else’s sweaty face.

Isak had reached a place where he loved himself enough to admit that he was still in love with someone else.

 

  * [Saved- Khalid](https://open.spotify.com/track/248OFOZef6ShXv6DGgbnxU)•




	7. 6. in the end, i’d do it all again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fucking hell. i got a kick to finish this chapter and write the next mini-prologue chapter to the second part of this fic, the mammoth chapter that's coming soon. prepare ur souls guys bc hopefully soon enough a big boi is cOMING and i SWEAR IT because IM IN THE MIDDLE OF WRITING IT I PROMISE.
> 
> im so fUCking sorry im so bad at updating it's just college and life and making new friends and going out and fuck me.
> 
> im also sorry this and the next chap are mini bois, im just trying to bang this story out and not get caught up in a painful writers block. and because im preparing for myself for the devil i have planned.
> 
> anyways. shits about to get real soon, as we close part 1 and start part 2.
> 
> enjoy laddos and please leave a comment because i'd probably fade out and forget this fic without your precious encouragements. i love u all. xx

  * [The Kids Aren’t Alright – Fall Out Boy](https://open.spotify.com/track/2zmk3eaesHxXcC2eEbDckZ)•



Even was knackered. He was wiped out. Exhausted. Bollocked. He was so tired that every single night he slept soundly and fully, crashing onto his bed and the moment his body was wrapped up in his sheets he was out like a light. Sometimes his flatmates had to switch his lights off because he was so burned out he was asleep before getting changed or anything. And he was loving it. Every moment of his internship, working on real sets, watching the process of television and film unfold. The air in the studio was alive with camera dust and the sweat and stench of a writhing clockwork of crew members, and it was air Even would never tire of breathing. The sounds of hundreds of voices clamouring, and then the comparative silence that fell when all those voices hushed, tension thick and sticky as time stretched syrupy as molasses during important takes. Every crew member on edge as each scene was executed as many times as necessary to achieve perfection. Even loved it. Loved discussing the best angles with the D.o.P, loved chatting to assistant directors about symbolism, loved talking visions with the script writer and feeling the giddiness of watching one’s own story unfold before his very eyes. He was charming his way through the crew, even managing the get in with the assistant directors and the directors of various projects. It was everything he’d wanted, and it was therapeutic. And he was overwhelmed with opportunities following that internship. He had never imagined, never dreamed that he’d be desirable in the industry, but he was.

“Obviously, Even, have you met yourself, you’ve charmed the socks off half the staff at NRK already, and charmed the pants off the other half,” Mikael told him over coffee. It was a rare day off for Even, and he was a tired, gushing mess. Caffeine was the only thing stopping him from collapsing on any given day, this was no exception, and he’d grown to worship the stuff. 

“I like to think they appreciate the work I do, too, Mikael.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure that’s all fine too. But Even, you’ve got it.”

“Got what?”

“The rare gift – _charisma_.” Mikael said it with conviction, a fond and knowing glint in his eye. And as much as Even wanted to be humble, he was preening. He loved it, being told he was special, and he was pretty sure Mikael was right – he did have charisma, in copious quantities, and it was serving him well. Without his excessive charm he wouldn’t be in the position he was. It was extraordinary for a _mere intern_ to receive the opportunities he did, to be so well-liked by half the crew members, for the director of any major project to even remember his name. But they did, and they gave him a lot more than orders for coffee-runs too. Even was absolutely delighted, obviously, that it was all going so well for him.

That didn’t shake the fear, though. Everyone on set knew of his _condition_ – the somewhat gross euphemism they used – but that didn’t make it any easier. When Even did eventually spiral into an episode, he had no way of knowing how that would affect the relationships he’d built, how that would affect the reputation he’d so carefully constructed and enforced. He couldn’t be sure that one slip-up wouldn’t undermine his dedication and work ethic from prior to the said slip-up. He couldn’t even be sure if he would have an episode during the year of his internship, but there was no guarantee he’d be episode-free either. The suspense, the lack of assuredness, was just too much _bother_. He vehemently hated living so on edge, even when he was consumed by the work he was doing during the day. Even knew he wanted to remain in the industry following his internship, was already making contacts and lining up projects to be involved in following the internship, and he was always distantly, or not-so-distantly, aware that he would have to face the music at some point. At some point, there would be an incident, big or small, and there would be consequences. And he couldn’t not think about it, couldn’t push it fully out of his head. It lingered there, sometimes festering and twisting, and sometimes just lurking, a slight bother. 

But that wasn’t to discredit his progress on that front either. He was afraid, he always would be, but at least he was out there. At least he hadn’t let the fear stop him from putting himself in the field where his heart lay but his brain sometimes didn’t. And that was the thought that he constantly reiterated to himself when the fear started swirling, a hurricane waxing chaotic in the confines of his troubled mind.

• 

He was in a far better place now than he had been a year and a half ago. It had taken him time to reach the state of mind he was now in, but he was solid and sure. He’d given himself the time to grow strong roots, and he had a support network, and more importantly he had self-respect. He had shaken off the icy tendrils of self-loathing, and he was no longer ashamed of what he had and who he was, only afraid of the damage it could do. It wasn’t perfect, and probably never would be, but Even was so much happier in himself than he had been before. 

He had built stability into his life, he had embraced friendship, support and opportunities. He took his meds, he enjoyed the occasional drink with friends, but mostly stuck to Coke or San Pell. He was _enjoying_ his life, a feeling which he had forgotten, and it was refreshing, and exciting.

•

“I think I’m still in love with him.”

Mikael was sitting across from him, picking apart a muffin with his hands and then eating it while leaving the blueberries on his plate. Occasionally, Even’s fingers would sneak across the table and nab one of the discarded berries, popping it into his mouth as they discussed films, work and friends. Mikael had been musing over the latest romantic shenanigans of their friends when Even had interrupted him, and he was now paused in confusion and slight shock with a muffin piece halfway to his mouth.

“What?”

“I think I’m still in love with him,” Even said again, more quietly, and more sure of himself. 

“Wha- who?” Mikael’s bewilderment showed clear on his face as his hand remained still, the muffin piece dangling forgotten in his fingers. 

“Who do you think, Mikael?” Even sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his quiff, looking up and the ceiling and letting out a long breath before facing Mikael again. Mikael, who looked increasingly confused even as realisation dawned on him. 

“Oh, my god, my god Even, serr?” 

“Yeah, fucking hell, yes.”

And god, if it weren’t the truest thing Even had said in a while. He’d slept with people, he’d tried to date people, but having reached the point in his life where he could finally just admit he was happy to be himself, to be doing what he loved, where he had enough stability to in his heart to try and fill it with something new and exciting, it just hit him like a tonne of bricks. There was no space in his heart to be filled with something new and exciting because the face he still saw when he let his mind wander had green eyes and a button nose and stupidly bewitching Cupid’s bow lips.


	8. is it too late, to come on home?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the end of part 1! 
> 
> short boi, little part 1 epilogue
> 
> make sure u clock that i posted two chaps at once and don't miss the prev even pov chap !!
> 
> i guess you all kno what's coming but im gonna make u wait for it anymore bc im a lil bitch
> 
> leave a comment it makes my world TURN
> 
> love u all xxx

  * [Long & Lost – Florence + The Machine](https://open.spotify.com/track/55zTc30BLHsy3HJOspZ96K)•



The months rolled on, and Isak was fine. He was going out, he was drinking, he was being with people. He knew that ignoring the pining in his chest probably wasn’t helping him in his dating life, as attempt after attempt failed to bring any romance into his otherwise very decent life.

But what could he do, honestly? Even was in Oslo, he was in Bergen. They wouldn’t see each other, contact each other. He just had to let that love fade, as hard as it seemed, as far away as it felt. And it was just so fucking hard, because it wasn’t like he wasn’t trying – he was open to relationships, hell he was on his knees (literally and figuratively) begging for some release from the hold Even still had on that part of his heart. He had gone on dates; he had slept with guys but it just – it wasn’t Even. It was like Even had ruined him for anyone else because he just couldn’t shake the feeling that Even was the only one for him.

•

Even was jacking off, again. Picturing blonde locks, again. Tasting Isak’s name on his tongue, a-fucking-gain. He was tired of it, tired of his thumb hovering over Isak’s contact in his phone, tired of sex that couldn’t compare to the memory of Isak’s heat around him, of Isak’s heat in him.

He was doing great, really, had a few gigs doing short films, directing little projects because he’d gained such good rep from the mentors he’d had. His work life was actually taking off, he was making new arty film friends, going out with his old high school friends. Shying away from cafes if he caught a mop of curly brown eyebrows and a domineering set of bushy eyebrows. So, great. He was acing this whole single life thing.

Apart from the obvious hiccup, which was the part of him that was full of aching love for a man he couldn’t have anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment it makes my heart warm <3
> 
> title is from between two lungs by florence and the machine. that whole lyric is like ugh beautiful: "Between two lungs it was released  
> The breath that passed from you to me  
> That flew between us as we slept  
> That slipped from your mouth into mine"  
> perfect
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/user/beacorti/playlist/2cINBSksOHNGm1OCAlvB9i


End file.
